Heaven's In Your Eyes
by deathbyacid
Summary: Tormented and blood red eyes. Stiles is bad with words but Derek is even worse. They both have suppressed their feelings for each other but that one time at the pool changes everything. Post 2x04. Rated for later chapters.
1. The Fall

A/N: So there's this Sterek video on youtube made by TheNerjaveika with Lana Del Rey's Dark Paradise as a bgm which pretty much inspired me to start writing for this fandom so I have him/her to thank for that.

No beta, all mistakes are my own. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

* * *

The temperature of the water pouring down his back now was a stark contrast to that of the pool, Stiles heaves a sigh of relief as he stands completely under the shower. His breathing evens out, fingers stop trembling, he realizes then that the cold of the pool had never left him until now. He clenches his right fist, buries it into the wall in front of him, teeth barred, almost growling, perhaps hanging around all those werewolves has been rubbing off on him.

"Fuck," he curses aloud, pulls his wounded hand back and covers his face. The coldness wasn't just due to the temperature; it's that feeling, that shiver of your spine when you experience true fear. Stiles finds himself wondering if Derek could smell fear, he probably could, and that thought makes Stiles ground his teeth together even harder.

_"Would you just trust me this once?"_

He shouldn't have said that, he really shouldn't have. Trust was one thing that Derek could never do, he should have realized that. After Kate, after his uncle – and Stiles just had to make it worse. He shouldn't have pushed it.

_"You don't trust me, I don't trust you. But you need me to survive which is why you're not letting me go."_

It was the adrenaline rush at that time; Stiles couldn't comprehend that sentence fully. But now when the storm has calmed and he has the time to think, he gets hit with a wave of questions that he doesn't have the answers to. Why exactly did he keep Derek alive?

"Fuck!" He yells, and this time, his eyes snap open when pain surges through his fist. Staring at his shaking arm that he'd unknowingly used to punch the toilet wall again, he draws it back and cradles it, turns off the water and steps out of the room covered in steam. He hadn't even noticed how hot the water really was, his skin had an angry pink tint to it, and pain surged through when he tried to dry himself off.

He flops down on his bed immediately after trailing back to his room, the grey sheets soaking in droplets of water that he'd failed to rid himself of, but he can't bring himself to care. Rolling around, Stiles buries his face in the pillow, the towel which he'd tied around his waist slips off and he's hit with a chill of wind. Funny, he could have sworn he'd closed the window.

"Stiles."

Now that didn't sound right, that wasn't his dad's voice. In fact, his dad was working late today, no one was supposed to be home. And that voice sounded oddly familiar.

"Oh, god, Derek!" Glad that his voice doesn't betray him this once, instead of shrieking he managed to come off as sort of pissed, he grabs the towel that had slid off to cover himself up. "Can't any of you werewolves act like a normal person for once and use the god damned door?"

Derek shoots him an amused look and he pouts, "Scott does it all the time too. Scares the shit out of me." He pauses, then mutters under his breath, "I hate you guys."

It hits him then that he's fully naked in his room with Derek standing by his bedside looking at him with that stupid mischievously sexy glint in his eyes and oh, god, he did not just think that Derek was _sexy._

After deeming this the most awkward of all awkward moments, he coughs nervously, pulls the towel higher because he's that self conscious and scoots to his drawer to grab some clothes. When he turns around to make sure that Derek had the decency to turn around and give him some privacy while he changes, he mentally slaps himself in the face because, of course, he shouldn't have expected creepy-appearing-everywhere-from-out-of-fucking-nowhere Derek to actually do that.

"Uhm," he starts, coughs again and clears his throat after - he's suddenly aware that he really, really needs to drink something, anything, to clear the lump in his throat - makes a turning motion with his finger and says, "Could you, just, god has no one ever thought you that it's rude to stare?"

And he swears that Derek's smirking. The fucking bastard.

"Fine, if you're going to- fine, be that way." It sounded like it would be fine in his head, sounded like a good idea to just change and get it over with but once he'd let go of the towel and hears it drop on the floor, he feels exposed and god, it shouldn't even matter because Derek was a guy and- and why would he think that Derek wants to look at him anyway.

But it does matter, it sends a shiver down his spine - that smirk, those eyes, staring at his back, hungry - his heart is racing and he knows that Derek can hear it too, his face flushes red, pulls up a pair of boxers and jeans to boot. Once he has a black shirt on as well he turns around to see that Derek has made himself comfortable, sitting on the computer chair, clicking away on Stiles's macbook.

If the wolf has heard the rapid beating of Stiles's heart he doesn't comment about it.

Stiles takes in a deep breath, calms himself and once he's sure that his voice won't waver, he asks, "What are you doing here anyway?"

Derek shrugs, seemingly more amused at what he's reading on the computer and Stiles stumbles over, remembering the last tab that he'd left open. "Werewolf mating? Seriously?" Too late.

"Shut up," he snatches the mouse from Derek, their fingers brushing momentarily, closes the firefox window. Derek turns around then, with Stiles leaning over his sitting frame they're way too close and Stiles's mind, still flustered from before, points out to him how deliciously kissable the other's lips are.

He feels his body leaning in on its own accord and he jerks away, blaming it on teenage hormones but he knows that its not it, doesn't know how to justify what he's done. Derek either doesn't realize or chooses not to comment, which is odd, because Derek always realizes when something goes wrong and _always _says things that he knows will make Stiles uncomfortable.

"The site's wrong, by the way. Don't believe everything you read," Derek isn't letting anything slip, that's just so like him and Stiles doesn't know exactly how to feel about that.

"Well it's not like I could ask, oh, I don't know, you for instance, about it." And then he realizes how wrong that came out so he's waving his arms in front of him, "God, no, I didn't mean it like that."

Except maybe he sort of, kind of, did.

Derek just gives him a face that says, 'like what?' and Stiles just can't believe his fucking luck. "Never mind, what do you want? Why are you here? You don't find me unless its important."

This time, its Derek's turn to get fidgety, which is something that doesn't happen, ever. Derek doesn't get nervous. "Well, at the pool-"

Stiles cuts him off, "No, we agreed to never speak about it, remember?"

After Scott had finally found them, dragged them out of the pool and chased the Kanima away, Stiles had rushed to one of the nearby cabinets to grab a towel to cover his own shivering body. He got another towel for Derek and since the poison was still in effect, it was fading but it was still there, he'd wrapped it around Derek's frame. He jumped slightly when Derek grabbed his hand, afraid that the wolf might throw him back in the pool or something. Knowing Derek, he'd be sore about the fact that Stiles had saved his life, again.

But Derek didn't do it, didn't do anything but give Stiles a look that he wouldn't mind interpreting as a word of thanks. The touch wasn't what made his stomach clench up in knots though, it was that look in Derek's eyes that makes Stiles just want to wrap his arms around the other and tell him that he's safe. That _they _are safe. They had agreed after Derek lets go, teeth clenched, eyes downcast, that they'd never speak of this again.

"I need to know why," Derek's voice snapped him out of his daze and he blurts out, "Why what?"

_Why do you trust me? Why do you care about me? Why do you like me? _"Why did you save me?"

"Because," Stiles knows that he should have thought it through but he's started speaking too fast and his mind screeches to a halt, he answers stupidly, "Because."

Derek has him slammed against the closed door in an instant, knocking the wind out of his lungs. "Because of what?" Derek's growling, snarling, all sharp teeth and glowing werewolf eyes but all Stiles can think of is how close they are to each other. The way that he can see his own reflection from Derek's eyes, the way that he could almost feel the rough stubbles on Derek's chin, the way that he could shove his hands in Derek's hair and tug at it, pull him in and kiss his lips - Stiles gets a shock when he's thrown on the floor.

"I can smell that you know," Derek says, backs off until he hits the foot of the bed and slumps down on it.

"S-smell?" Stiles stutters, pushes himself off the floor, fiddles with the material of his jeans awkwardly because god, Derek couldn't possibly mean…

"Yes, Stiles. Smell. You. Your intent, your-" Derek cuts himself off, scowls, angry. His claws are out and he hadn't even realized it until he's digging it into the flesh of his own leg. They say animals have a fight or fright instinct, well, Derek gets up and leaps out of the window so fast that Stiles couldn't even bring himself to formulate a reply.

Stiles finally tears his gaze away from the window and manages to drag himself to the bed, buries his face into the pillow again, and curses under his breath. Derek knows then. Maybe the wolf had known all along, maybe Derek was just fucking with him - and god damn it, he shouldn't have used the words 'Derek' and 'fucking' in the same sentence.

He wants to sleep forever and die, because that'd be better than facing Derek again. But alas, life was cruel.

That night, he jerks off in his bed and he doesn't get that same satisfaction.


	2. Running Away

A/N: I partially followed the storyline in 2x05, so you'll probably have to watch that to understand what's going on.

Thanks for reading. As usual, no beta, all mistakes are my own. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

* * *

They meet at school the next day as usual and Scott realizes immediately that something was wrong, asks, "Are you okay?" And Stiles just gives a simple nod. Scott knows otherwise, they've been best friends for so long now, Stiles was like an open book. He doesn't pry though, and Stiles was grateful.

o0o0o

"It's not Lydia! I know her, it can't be her," he's outside, confronting Derek after that chemistry lesson escapade. Scott had wanted to be the one to talk to Derek at first, but Stiles had insisted that it's _Lydia_ and he wants to be the one who protects her because he blames himself for that incident after the dance. Scott had said it would be too dangerous for a human to confront Derek, but after Stiles argued that he can't just stand by and do nothing again, Scott agreed, albeit, warily.

It was, after all, the half truth.

Sure, he wants to protect Lydia, wants to make sure that no harm will ever come her way, but he wants to talk to Derek as well, wants to continue their conversation, wants to find out what Derek thinks, and possibly, just a little, find out if the wolf feels the same way.

He's sounding like a lovesick teenager, but that wasn't it. He _knows _what Derek had gone through, losing his family, his sister, knows exactly how it feels and he wants to help. Derek's clinging on to his past and he doesn't want to let go and Stiles wants to know why, wants to show Derek that he isn't alone, wants to see him smile.

"She failed the test, Stiles," and its just the way that Derek said his name, that impatient growl like he was speaking to a child, makes Stiles's blood boil and he's suddenly incredibly angry.

"I don't care if she failed the test! I don't care if she's the Kanima! Don't you understand?" he asks, and Derek looks taken aback for a minute, because he does understand, but what's the use?

"Well sometimes things just don't go the way you want it to," he snarls, tries to be intimidating but Stiles sees the pain behind it, the surfaced memories and suppressed emotion.

Stiles shakes his head, places his hands on Derek's shoulder and looks straight into those beautiful sad eyes, "No, no it doesn't. But I want to change it." And he isn't sure what he's talking about anymore, what exactly he wants to change but it must have went through because Derek's anger is gone.

"Please, don't hurt her," and he turns around the leave.

Derek doesn't respond and when Stiles reaches the door and risks a glance back, he's gone.

o0o0o

Derek comes by the window again at night and this time, Stiles isn't caught off guard. He's briefly worried that Derek's here to say 'sorry, but I've killed her', but he reminds himself to show the other some sort of trust. Perhaps it's just to prove Derek wrong, that they can, in fact, trust each other – he doesn't realize how badly he wants to make that happen.

"Hey," he greets, awkwardly, and Derek's still sitting on the window ledge.

There's something different though, Derek looks weary, tired… drunk? Werewolves can't get drunk, right? Stiles stands from where he's sitting in front of his laptop and goes over to the window, "You want to, uhm, come in?"

Derek doesn't even look at him, asks instead, "How do you like someone for so long? Third grade, isn't it?"

He sighs, grabs the bottle of pills on the table, pops two in his mouth and sits on the edge of his bed facing the window, "Yeah, god, third grade."

The bottle of pills was snatched out from his hand, he looks up to see Derek reading the label, "Adderall? You have ADHD?" Stiles scoffs, rolls his eyes, "What, your keen werewolf senses can't pick that up?"

Derek shoots him a look of feigned annoyance and Stiles starts to wonder since when did this feel like such a routine thing. Sitting in his room a werewolf whom, honestly, he barely knew – not to mention their mutual hatred for each other, if Derek's fondness for inflicting pain on him was anything to go by – and now they're talking and joking like they've been friends since forever.

Derek wants to smile, laugh, at the stupid grin of satisfaction on the other's face but he doesn't. Swallows it down and instead, goes back to his original question, "What'd you think, the first time you saw her? How do you know that…"

"That I like her?" Stiles doesn't even wait for Derek to nod, says, "I don't know. I just liked looking at her, she didn't even want to talk to me and she sat three tables away, but, every time she smiles I just can't help…" he pauses, looks up at Derek who's now looking at the floor of his room, eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought.

Realizing that Stiles wasn't talking anymore, Derek looks up, surprised more than anything else, like he wasn't even listening to Stiles and was trying hard to think if he was supposed to be nodding in agreement or replying to a question.

"Why the sudden interest?" Stiles asks after a moment of Derek looking at him stupidly – cutely – because honestly, he had never thought he'd be talking to Derek of all people about his love life.

Derek shrugs, and that simple action was so unlike him, this whole conversation, how he had his guard down and the way he was acting, Stiles doesn't know what's going on but he likes this new side of Derek.

Of course, Derek picks that up as well, that he's being a little more open and that scares him. He does what he always do when he's afraid, "Nothing," he says, "Just thought I should know why you're so intent on me not killing her," and jumps up on the roof, runs off before Stiles could say anything else.

o0o0o

Two days passed, no Kanima, no Derek, Lydia's fine. Scott keeps asking him what he said to keep Derek from killing Lydia, and he always answers, 'I just asked him not to'. Which was, again, the half truth.

"Stiles," Scott grabs him arm in the hallway when they're making their way to the next class, "If there's anything wrong, you'll tell me, yeah?"

Stiles nods, says, "Yeah," but he's not entirely sure he means it.

o0o0o

He gets a phone call a week later, the room is dark and the moon is half full, his mind barely awake from sleep. He reaches for the phone, glances at the time and it's fifteen minutes past 3.

"What?"

"It's Jackson," Derek's voice filters through, rough, on edge.

"Derek? What the hell are you talking about? In case you haven't noticed, it's 3-freakin'-am." A pause, then, "How did you get my number anyway?"

"The Kanima – it's Jackson," the connection was gritty, either that or Derek's messing with the phone.

"Are you sure? I thought you said-" He hears the phone clutter like it would if dropped on the floor, then Derek cursing angrily in the background before more frantic fumbling, "I can't, Stiles, can't…" And he realizes how heavily Derek's panting and the static of the poor connection was actually wind noise, which meant that the wolf was probably chasing something, or running away from it, "Derek, what happened? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Opposite end of your street, Stiles, now – _now_. Get here now."

o0o0o

"Oh my lord, is that going to heal?" He had found Derek lying on a small alley way, gun shot to his lower abdomen and a pool of blood surrounding him. Derek's attempt at a glare was laughable had it been in another situation, "It will. Slow. Fuckin' bullets."

Stiles doesn't really understand what Derek means by that but he takes it that it's a different bullet and it'd take time to heal, which meant that, "Argent?"

"Yes, Stiles, fuck. Now would you stop standing there and-" he heaves, then doubles over as he pukes out blood, unfortunately, on Stiles's shoes.

"Oh god, oh god, okay," he takes off his outer red flannel shirt, bunches it up together and then presses it onto the wound, "Hold it there. Come on, I'll take you to my place."

o0o0o

It didn't take him that long to drive up to his place, but when Stiles looks over, Derek has his eyes closed. He panics, his mind screaming 'what if he's dead?' but he calms himself down as he notices the rise and fall of Derek's chest.

"Derek," he calls, softly, doesn't want to startle the wolf because claws stabbing through his heart didn't sound like a particularly fun activity. Derek doesn't stir though, and Stiles leans over, poking the other on the shoulder, "Wake up, dammit."

He glances down at the wound, his shirt's soaked but it doesn't look as bad as it did in the alley way, thinks that perhaps Derek's body is tired from all the healing. "Derek, get up or I'm leaving you in the car."

Frowning when Derek still doesn't answer, he unbuckles the seat belt and leans forward even further, wanting to shake the wolf awake but he stops midway because in the light of his driveway, Derek looks flawless.

Before he knows it, he's pressed their lips together, all he can register is that Derek's lips are warm and soft and he's never, ever kissed anyone before – Mary didn't count, that was a dare and he didn't like her anyway.

"Stiles?"

He pulls away so fast; his head hits the rear view mirror, "Ah, shit!"

o0o0o

Back in his room, he helps Derek take off his clothes to get a better look at the wound. "Why do you wear 3 layers of clothing in this weather?"

"Stiles," is all Derek has to say, impatient.

"Okay, okay, getting on with it."

The wound was healing up nicely, granted, slower than the normal werewolf regeneration speed but Stiles was pretty sure that if it had been a normal human, they would have been dead. He grabs his bath towel that he had left lying on the floor, cleans up the wound somewhat and wraps a bandage over it. So okay, he wasn't a first aid expert, but he's pretty happy with the output.

"There," he says, smiling to himself more than anything.

"Don't flatter yourself," and Stiles knows that it's Derek's way of saying 'thank you' because Derek's smiling too.

o0o0o

When he wakes up in the morning, Derek's gone. The only proof that last night's events did occur was the bloodied towel and shirt that's left on his bedroom floor. He hates it, how Derek always leaves without saying a word, how easy it must be for him to be able to run away from everything, to leave everything behind.

"Fuckin' coward," he mutters under his breath, means it, but he doesn't know what he'd do if Derek had stayed either. He groans, lies back down because it's way too early for this, and if Derek can run away from it all, then he deserves a break too.


	3. Blood

A/N: Some spoilers from the recent episodes, so do watch them before reading. And a big thank you to all those who reviewed, I'm glad you guys like this story.

No beta, all mistakes are my own. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

* * *

Derek's on top of him, the weight pinning him down. Stiles doesn't remember how they got here, when they got here, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Derek is mouthing at his neck, breath warm, tongue wet, Stiles makes a noise but he can't exactly hear himself.

He's dizzy, vision blur and dark, he can't quite see Derek's form but he knows it's the wolf, feels it, feels that pressure when Derek grinds their hips together as well. He knows that he calls out the other's name but once again the sounds get drowned out. Its just feeling and knowing, his senses are messed up.

Claws on his chest, they drag down, not hard enough to cut through skin but enough to remind him that they're there, stops right above his crotch and he doesn't know if he wants Derek to continue going downwards with those claws or not.

"Stiles," Derek says, and this time he hears it as clear as day. "God, yes," he groans, hands flying to tug at the mess of black hair when Derek closes his perfect kiss swollen lips around his cock.

"Stiles," it's sharper, more commanding, "Stiles, wake up."

He opens his eyes abruptly, suddenly all too aware that he's alone on his bed with a very big problem. "Oh my god," he sits up, hands cupping his face in shock, "I did _not _just dream about that."

He looks down at the sheets, now covered with patches of sweat, and immediately picks up another very big problem. Scrambling out of bed, he pulls off his ruined boxers and throws them at the far corner of the room so that he doesn't have to see them ever again. "Oh…my god."

o0o0o

"Stiles you look horrible today, busy night?"

He snaps out of his thoughts, almost falls over the chair as he turns to come face to face with his best friend. "Oh, uhm, yeah," he rubs his head awkwardly, inwardly wondering if he really does look that bad – but who was he kidding? He hadn't dared to go back to sleep after waking up from that. "Just busy doing some homework."

"We had homework yesterday?" Stiles would have laughed at the look of dread in Scott's face but not today, definitely not today.

"Uhm, yeah, no, my dad wanted me to do some studying so…" He tries to crack a smile, but it comes out weird and lopsided instead.

Scott frowns for a second, then shrugs it off, "Alright sure. Listen, I talked to Derek this morning-"

"Derek?" Stiles almost yells, caught off guard, no one needs to mention that guy's name to him ever again. Ever.

Scott raises an eyebrow at the reaction, says sarcastically, "Yeah Derek, black hair, kind of tall, pretty scary and tends to act like he hates everybody? Remember him?" Which earns him a smack to the head, "No not really, care to elaborate?" Scott lets out a laugh and Stiles was grateful that his friend didn't question his sudden outburst.

"Derek wants to kill Jackson, we can't let that happen. We need to help him."

o0o0o

"We need to help him, huh?"

"Quiet you two."

Scott shoots him a look of apology as they sat in the police station.

o0o0o

"I'm killing him."

Stiles falls over his computer chair from getting up too quickly, hits his head on the floor board with a loud thud and manages to scramble all the way up against the cupboard door. "D-Derek," his heartbeat is racing, partly from shock, partly because he hasn't gotten over that ridiculous dream.

He doesn't consider himself as totally straight, because, let's face it, he did think about what it'd be like having a relationship with a guy at random points of time in his life. But that dream – that was taking the cake, that was the last god damn straw – he doesn't like Derek that way, he just wants to help, wants to offer some sort of comfort and comfort does not include having sex with someone.

Or does it?

He has to admit, Derek does look good, better than his body which he considers as scrawny compared to the wolf's but still. Still. He's attracted to Derek beyond looks and he doesn't know how to explain it.

"…Stiles?"

"Hey," he greets, stupidly. In the span of time that Stiles was freaking out, Derek had picked up the fallen computer chair and made himself comfortable, what Stiles can't get over is that adorable confused look the wolf has on his face.

"Five stars for keeping your cool there."

"Shut up," Stiles snaps, flustered, but immediately regrets it as he remembers Derek's fondness of slamming him against solid objects if he pisses the guy off. Nothing happens though, and he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"I'm killing him," Derek repeats himself, because clearly Stiles hadn't been listening.

"What? No, no wait-"

"He's killing people, Stiles, all your stupid little plans aren't helping!" Derek gets up off the chair then, growls, looks like he's about to lunge forward but he holds himself back. "Are you just going to sit back and wait till he kills someone else?"

"Of course not, but-"

Derek's right in front of him in an instant, teeth barred, fists clenched, "But what? Why do you insist on protecting him? He's killing people and you want to help?"

"No! Someone's controlling him, don't you get it? He's not killing people on his own accord!" That wasn't it though, that wasn't why he doesn't want Derek killing Jackson and he knows it. He doesn't care about Jackson, could careless if anything bad were to happen to Jackson at this point, but Derek on the other hand…

"It's not like we know who's controlling him isn't it? If I kill Jackson, this all ends, there would be no Kanima for anyone to control. I have to do it, I have to," he's yelling, they're both yelling but the truth is that he's scared. Ever since he lost his family, he had nothing to protect. Then he'd became an Alpha, gotten himself a pack, it wasn't like he doesn't care for them, he does, but they're family. It's different.

Stiles is different. He doesn't want to put Stiles in the line of danger again, doesn't know how to explain it, the feeling is just there.

"You can't!" Stiles shouts, slams his fist on the floor so hard that the sound of impact echoes in his room. Derek stops pushing, Derek stops everything, he drops his hands down and sits on the floor in front of Stiles, light green eyes wide and afraid.

Stiles tries to calm himself down but he's biting on his lip and it's drawing out blood. Derek smells it, wants to apologize, wants to make this moment go away but he can't. He doesn't know what to say to make Stiles understand, feels as helpless as he did when he found out his sister had died, feels as helpless as he did when his house was set ablaze.

He's not good enough, he can't protect anyone but he tries anyway and it stings when he fails. His claws dig into the wood of the floor, knows that he should stop it because this is Stiles' room and he's ripping the floor to bits, he can't. Can't control himself, can't retract his claws – thought he'd managed to learn to control it, but Stiles just seem to have the ability to turn everything upside down.

He wants to apologize for shouting, wants to apologize for damaging the floor board but the words don't come out. Throat sealed shut, mouth dry, he hates himself for it.

Stiles breaks the silence, but it's barely a whisper, almost like he doesn't want Derek to hear it, "It's not your responsibility. You don't have to have that blood on your hands."

And it hurts so much more because it _is _his responsibility, he had given Jackson the bite – if he hadn't done that, none of this would have happened. People wouldn't have died. Stiles wouldn't be here sitting on the floor biting into his own lip.

"I don't want you to have that blood on your hands. I-" Stiles cuts himself off, freezes entirely as Derek reaches out to wipe the blood off his bottom lip.

"I don't want you to have that blood on your chin," his voice hoarse, like he's been swallowing a ton of gravel, his hand shakes as he brings it back down to wipe the blood off on his pants.

Stiles is looking at Derek but the wolf fixed his gaze on the floor, he wants to say something to make Derek look up, anything for Derek to stop acting like this but he doesn't know what to say so he reaches out and places his hand on top of Derek's.

It felt weird, placing his hand over Derek's slightly bigger clawed one, doesn't know what he was expecting but the smoothness and warmth of Derek's skin shocks him. The claws slowly transforms back into normal and Stiles feels every movement.

It felt weird, but right.

But it doesn't last long because Derek pulls away, stands up and walks towards the window. "I'll find a way to stop him," were his parting words and once again Stiles is left alone in the worst possible moment.

Stiles brings his palm up to his face, looks at it for a second because he swore he could still feel the movement when those claws transformed back into normal, could still feel their warmth, could still feel Derek – he slams it on the floor, snaps his eyes shut – he's never felt so confused in his life.

o0o0o

"Tickets, we need to get tickets. Our plan wouldn't work unless we can actually get in there. Stiles? Stiles! Are you listening to me?"

Stiles shifts his attention back to Scott, he's been drifting out of everything lately, he hasn't been seeing Derek around, doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing. Derek did say he'll find a way to stop Jackson, that's good, right? That meant that Derek would not kill him, right?

"Y-Yeah, 'course I am."

"You've been out of it lately," it wasn't a question, so Stiles doesn't deny it. "If there's anything I can do to help…"

"Yeah, I know, I know. It's nothing, I'm fine. Just that my dad's on this case and all, so I've been up trying to help him. It's just lack of sleep," he explains, it's the half truth and Scott seems to believe him, so he doesn't elaborate. "So yeah, about those tickets…"


	4. Short Circuit

A/N: I apologize for the long wait.

No beta, all mistakes are my own. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Scott asks him, seems to be doing that a lot lately and Stiles can't blame him. He knows he looks like an absolute wreck, he knows that Scott just wants to help but its just wrong time, wrong place. He nods, pretends, always does and Scott doesn't push it because there's more important things to focus on, they have one chance for the plan to work and they have to go for it now.

But he's not okay.

He wants to tell his dad everything, about who committed those murders, about Jackson and Scott and Derek, but he knows he shouldn't, he just doesn't know if he can hide the truth any longer. He got his dad fired, for gods sake, it was entirely his fault and he wants to fix it but there isn't a chance, is there?

All secrets have a price. What good would it do, since he had kept his father in the dark for so long. What would Scott say about it? It's the consequences that get to him, that makes him keep his mouth shut and he doesn't like it, not one bit.

He considers it his responsibility to keep this secret. And he hates every moment of it.

o0o0o

There's a loud thud on the window, Stiles doesn't even bother to look up, he knows who it is, no one else comes in to his room through the window at this time of night. "Go away," he mutters, pulling the blanket over his head.

Derek doesn't say a thing and the silence drags on until Stiles gets annoyed by it, asks without looking up, "What do you want?"

"Checking up on you," Stiles could almost hear the nonchalant shrug in Derek's voice, "Scott was badly wounded, my pack is exhausted. I'm exhausted." As if that explains why Derek's suddenly here, as if that explains why he actually cared enough to show up.

Stiles is not built for this, to take hit after hit, being an emotional wreck. He's not built for expressing himself either, he hates people looking down on him, thinking of him as weak. "I'm fine, go away."

After his mother had passed, all he garnered from people were sympathetic looks. Sure, it was the social norm to express sympathy, especially after the passing of a loved one, but they don't understand that it makes things worse.

_'If there is anything I can do, anything at all, just ask.'_

What could they do? Bring his mother back from the dead?

He doesn't want pity, doesn't want help, no one seems to get that sometimes, people just want to be left alone. Sometimes, less is more.

Derek reaches down, perhaps to comfort him, perhaps to pull the blanket away but Stiles slaps his hand away, blanket falling off with the sudden action, he shouts, "I said leave me alone!" And Derek freezes in place, doesn't know what to do and just looks because Stiles is crying and Derek doesn't fucking know how to deal with tears.

So he does what Stiles tells him – he leaves, but not before saying, "You did well today."

Stiles rubs at his eyes, pulls his palms down his face and stares at the open window. Of course, he knew that Derek was referring to the stupid fairy dust and nothing more – but he had needed to hear that coming from someone, anyone. Even if that person is a werewolf who has been threatening to kill him ever since they met.

It feels good to have someone acknowledge your work for once, for someone to tell you that you did good, especially after what he's been torturing himself through. Stiles chokes back a sob, silently wishing that Derek would have ignored his demands and stayed behind.

o0o0o

Stiles hates how he can't find Derek when he wants to because he has no idea where the wolf is. He knows that Scott knows where to find Derek, super werewolf senses and all, but asking would just be downright awkward.

That's why he finds himself in the woods all alone at night. He knows Derek isn't at the old house anymore, but what the hell, it's not like he has any other leads. "Derek," he calls, which then turn to yells.

The incident at Lydia's birthday was the final straw, seeing that twisted vision of his dad, drunk – reminding him of what could have been and might be – he just needs someone to talk to.

After a few minutes had past with him shouting for Derek to appear, he wonders why he hadn't talked to Scott about it, considering the guy was his best friend and all. But Scott has his own issues as well and it's not like Derek doesn't have to deal with anything, yet he still feels compelled to tell the wolf about it instead of his best friend.

He justifies it with 'Derek has seen you cry like a baby and Scott hasn't', and that doesn't make him feel better about this whole thing at all.

He has his Jeep parked a distance away from the old house, but he walks towards it nonetheless, hoping that Derek would appear. And he thinks it's pathetic, that he has to look for someone to talk about his silly problems to.

There's a huge hole in the wooden wall that wasn't there before, the wooden planks are scattered all over the front porch (what's left of the front porch for that matter) and part of the roof has already concaved in. His instincts tell him that Derek's in there – really, who else could have been in a broken down house? – so he barges in.

Surprisingly, his instincts were right.

Derek's lying on the floor, passed out. At first, Stiles thought that the other was just taking a nap or something, but when Derek doesn't respond to his calls, he panics.

He's by the wolf's side in a second, touching flesh that has turned cold. "Derek, Derek, wake up, oh, god," he's trembling, attempting to shake Derek awake but it isn't working.

"Please wake up, please don't pass out on me again, why do you always pass out on me…" The first time was horrible – Derek asking him to cut the bullet infected limb off, but the second time, the second time had went a little bit differently. His face flushes at the memory of that kiss and well, he wasn't one for Disney stories, but really…

He traces his palm up Derek's chest, following the contours of his jaw line, finger ghosting past parted lips. His heart beat shoots up as he feels the slow exhales coming from Derek's mouth, he leans in, just slightly and Derek groans.

"Jesus christ," he mutters under his breath, pulls his hand back just as Derek cracks open an eyelid.

"…Stiles?" Derek's voice was deep, broken.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Derek tries to sit up, winces, Stiles helps guide him up. He can't tell if Derek's having trouble breathing or if he's just enjoying the flow of air back into his lungs. "How did you…" The wolf doesn't finish his sentence, instead, he slumps down on Stiles's shoulder.

Stiles looks down at the mess of black hair leaning on his shoulder, feels the warm breath of Derek way too close to his own neck. His hand instinctively goes to hold Derek up but when he touches the wolf's shoulder, he stops, pats Derek's back instead.

They stay there like that for awhile, with Stiles rubbing soothing circles on Derek's back. Stiles thinking of what he should say and Derek just lying there, content. "You should see a doctor," he says, for lack of words that would come out of his mouth. His brain however, is running at a thousand words a second.

"Stiles," Derek tries to speak again, still sounding weak and tired, "He's back… Peter. Peter's back."

And there were a thousand ways he could have responded to that, surprise, shock, but he goes with calm and collected – which is something he rarely is because that's just not how his brain works. "It's okay," he says, "You're okay."

It should have sounded silly, because it's not okay. His crazy homicidal uncle is back up and running around with who knows what planned out in his mind, but Derek listens, and he feels better.

"Yeah," he agrees, voice so close to Stiles's ear, "We're okay."

He feels Stiles's hand running through his hair, the touch oddly comforting and he leans in to it, closes his eyes to just feel it. "Stiles," he says after a moment, "How did you know I was here?"

The hand in his hair stops in it's tracks and he inwardly curses at himself for spoiling the moment. "Uhm," Stiles splutters, "I, uh…"

Derek reaches out and pulls Stiles closer to him, turns his head slightly to fit better into the curve of the other's neck, says quickly, "Sorry, ignore what I said. Just… stay."

And that was it. Derek asked him to stay, Derek wanted him to stay. He didn't care if it was because the other is still weak from passing out, or if it was because of the weight of knowing that Peter was still alive – it didn't matter.

Derek asked him to stay when he had asked Derek to leave.

"I really want to tell my father about this, all of this that's been going on. It's my fault he lost his job, it's my fault my mum died, it's-" He stops. His heart skips a beat. Derek's mouth is on his. His brain short-circuits.


	5. Normal Protocol

A/N: I apologize for this taking so long. I'm currently busy writing for the Teen Wolf Big Bang on livejournal, so updates for this is going to take awhile. However, I hope this porn-filled chapter is worth the wait.

I do not own any of the characters in this story. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

* * *

Go to school, graduate, get a job, hopefully fall in love and get married – that's the protocol, isn't it? That's life's protocol. Everyone does it, be it a multi-millionaire or a simple guy off the streets.

Well, Stiles's life is a little different. Sometimes, he thinks that it's all too much, that the mere knowledge that he possesses has wrapped his life so much that he can't go back. Which was true, to an extent. When he thinks about it deeply though, really, really puts his mind into it, quiet down and just stop to think – he's scared of the alternative.

He doesn't want that boring life, doesn't want to be like everyone else and this whole 'werewolf exists' thing drags him out of that circle. But there was a downside to everything, and well, with great knowledge comes great responsibility.

Perhaps, 'responsible' wasn't what he should be going for right now.

"…Stiles?" Derek murmurs against his lips, so close, breath warm. He's anxious, worried that he'd misread things, worried that he took it just a step too far. He blames it on his unfocused mind, blames himself for getting knocked out by Peter.

Stiles can't bring himself to say a word, knows if he opens his mouth, the only sound that'll come out would be akin to a whimper. So alright, it wasn't a god damned fairy tale, they didn't fall in love like everyone else and go through things the right way, the normal way.

Then again, he figures, since when were they considered normal?

Still, he hadn't expected this, he's never seen this side of Derek and he damn well hadn't expected to be kissed. They've skipped a few steps along the way and Stiles can't help but wonder if that's a good or bad thing.

Derek pulls away, uncertainty full in his eyes. They stare into each other's eyes for a second, and Stiles just gets drawn in by the gorgeous steel grey. Derek frowns, gaze set on the floor, his eyelids flutter – Stiles doesn't stop staring at those long eyelashes – he manages a shaky, "Sorry, I thought…"

And Stiles pushes forward, initiates the kiss this time and Derek was as shocked as he was before. That makes Stiles smirk, somewhat gaining confidence through Derek's short display of uneasiness. It's funny, how the angry, feral alpha wolf gets when he's flustered, Stiles thinks it's just really, really _adorable._

When they pull apart, Stiles is full on grinning, says, "You have no idea how long I wanted to do that."

Stiles is ridiculous – looks ridiculous, leaning forward with that stupid smile, all traces of self doubt gone within seconds. Stiles is ridiculous, with his short hair and red hoodie and those worn out blue jeans. And because just thinking it isn't enough, Derek says, "You're ridiculous."

"I'll take it as a compliment," he replies, leans back in and this time, when they kiss, it's less lips and more tongue. Derek's pushed back onto the floor, and he lies there, arms wrapped around Stiles, doesn't fight, just goes with the flow.

Stiles wondered, as he kisses down Derek's neck, if Derek had known from the start. He must have, Stiles thought as Derek gasps, feels the racing heart beating strongly against his own. That's what it must have felt like, back then, back in his room when Derek got so, so close.

He must have known when Stiles had kissed him back in the car, too. Because why wouldn't he? He was awake, or was pulled away from sleep by it, either way, he must have felt it. Stiles hated how Derek hadn't said a thing. Below him, Derek moans, hands on his head now, pushing him down against Derek's skin, urging him to continue whatever he was doing.

He doesn't. He pulls away and Derek growls, all wolf-like, and Stiles thinks it's just such a god damned turn on.

"You knew, didn't you, back at the start."

"What?" Derek has his eyebrows furrowed, confused, brain trying hard to keep up with Stiles's own that just feels so jumbled up that it's making his brain fumble as well. Stiles is on top of him, straddling his lap now, arms pinned at either side of his head, if he wasn't so unsure of this, he'd have flipped them over by now.

"You knew that I had a thing for you," Stiles whispers, close to his ear, it sounds so, so _filthy_.

He groans, "Yeah, Stiles, yeah," and is rewarded with Stiles nipping at his neck again. "Why didn't you say anything about it?" Stiles asks, and Derek closes his eyes, because he can't take this right now. "Why didn't you?" He shoots back instead.

And well, that was a good question. Why didn't he? He was scared, confused, frustrated but that wasn't it. He realizes that he doesn't know, doesn't have an answer to that.

"Stiles," Derek calls his name again, rough, raw. Stiles could go on hearing that forever but he's reminded of the state he'd found Derek in before and he stops, yet again. "I don't think- We shouldn't- Is this okay?"

Derek opens his eyes again, slow, in the pale moonlight, Stiles is fixated on how the other looks like this, beneath him, panting, flushed. "Yeah," Derek answers, somewhat annoyed, then, "Of course it is."

He doesn't know what's going through Stiles's mind, but he wraps his arms around the body on top of his, pulls them close together, holds him tight, says, "You're not okay." It wasn't phrased like a question, it came off a statement.

After thinking about Derek non-stop for a month, this is how he breaks the moment. Stiles beats himself up mentally for it, but… "No, no I'm not." All that confidence he displayed before, he keeps it up, because he's not a child, he's not weak. His voice doesn't waver when he opens his mouth to speak again, "But I've never really been fully okay."

Stiles laughs at the end of his sentence, dry, but not bitter. Derek's lips tug up in a smile, just a little, hides it as best as he can. "You should tell him. Your father, I mean."

"Yeah, I know." But that isn't enough a reason for him to do so. There's a moment of silence between them, and truth be told, they were both content, just lying there in each other's arms. They don't say it though, don't show it. Derek has always been good at hiding things and Stiles, well, he's gotten enough practice.

"We should get out of here," Derek says after a while, but he doesn't let go of his grip.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees again, moves just slightly, nuzzles into the crook of Derek's neck, plants a kiss right where shoulder blade and neck meet. "Yeah," he says again, tugs at Derek's shirt. "Or, we could stay."

Derek moves up a little, just so Stiles could pull the shirt over his head, then lies back down on the wooden floor again, "Honestly? Your bed would be a much better place."

Stiles shakes his head, says, "Dad's home." And oh, _oh_. Derek nods, "Sorry, should have known." It's weird, Derek apologizing for things. Derek never apologizes. Stiles wonders how much more of the wolf was just an exterior, a mask. Stiles wants to break that, throw that mask away.

"Wanna see you," he says, barely above a whisper and that sentence could have meant a million things. Derek grunts, Stiles knows that the wolf didn't comprehend it so he says it again, and again, and again.

He's kissing a line down from Derek's neck to his chest, then goes down even further, stops at the band of denim. He tugs the button open, the realization dawns on him that this isn't a dream. "I've never," he mutters, then stops himself. In theory, he knows how to do this, but of course, putting it into practice was much harder.

"Stiles," Derek says, voice low and soothing, calming somewhat. Stiles nods like he's telling himself that yes, he can do this, and he tugs down Derek's jeans. "You know," he says – and Derek wonders if he would ever stop talking – "This isn't what happens in my dreams."

A scoff, Derek's looking down at him with a glimmer in his eye, "You've dreamed about this?" Stiles palms the black cotton underneath the jeans, feels the heat there, gulps, "Maybe," and well, that was a definite 'yes'.

It's different this time, seeing Derek shirtless, pants pulled down to his ankles. That bullet wound that Stiles had helped him patch up a week before, gone, not a trace of it remains. Stiles remembers then, that it's a werewolf underneath him, all that power, that feral growl, those sharp claws – _underneath _him.

"God," he manages to choke out, suddenly feeling way too hot, his pants way too tight. "Derek." He's mouthing Derek through cotton, sucks at where he figures the tip would be and from Derek's long drawn out moan, he's right.

He wonders if Derek has ever dreamed about this as well, maybe from the day he'd kissed the guy in his car, maybe from that night when he felt Derek's claws under his own hand. He wonders if Derek is as desperate for it as he is.

The black boxers come off slowly, and Derek's tugging at him to go faster, to move it along. He swats Derek's hand away, says, "Let me." Because he wants to do this, has to, he's gone so far not to.

"Stiles," Derek groans, half a warning, half wanting the other to just get on with it.

"Yeah, yeah okay," he gives Derek two strokes, then leans back down to lick at the tip, for real this time. Derek jerks into the touch, gasping, "Fuck, Stiles, fuck." The way Derek sounds, strained and slightly annoyed because Stiles is just taking his own sweet time – Stiles loves it, palms himself through his own jeans.

His other hand holds Derek's hips down, and the thought that Derek's strong enough to flip them over if he wants to but doesn't, that thought goes straight to his dick and he tugs open the fly of his jeans. "God, Derek, you look…"

He doesn't complete the sentence, instead, takes the whole of Derek's cock into his mouth, sucks on it instinctively. He feels Derek restraining himself to buck up into the warm mouth, and when he looks up, he sees the claws digging into the hard wood floor.

'God,' he thinks, 'Jesus fucking Christ, that's hot,' and he sucks harder, moves his head up and down. Soon, he gets into a rhythm, matches that with his other hand that's stroking himself.

"Stiles," Derek's voice so wolf-like, growling, "Can't-" And that's as far as the sentence goes, because Derek is shooting down his mouth seconds after. He swallows what he can, resists the urge to pull back and spit, gets everything, clean.

Derek's broken thoroughly-fucked high pitched whine at the end of it deals Stiles in, he cums into his own hand, hard, feels like the best orgasm in his entire life and god, Derek didn't even need to touch him.

"God," he says, when he's managed to catch his breath back, "Don't think I can settle for anything less than a werewolf after this." Derek laughs, worn out, tired, and he follows suit.

'Normal' had never been for him, and he'd like to keep it that way.


End file.
